The Best and Worst of Times
by Tara Walden
Summary: Every nation has defining moments. Moments in history that show who they are. Some are good, some are bad, but they define them all the same. These are just a few of those moments.
1. The Blitz

**Hello! This is obviously a Hetalia story. It's going to be a multi-chaptered gathering of "one-shots". Each chapter will focus on a different event in history. Each will deal with a different country, though, some may show several different country's views occasionally.**

**I haven't had the time or energy to write much for a while now, but I was inspired by history class-and Hetalia, of course- to write this. I think it totalled four pages on Word and it just flowed.**

**This is my first Hetalia story, so I'd love to get feedback on it. I know it's a lot more "serious" than the show, but I really wanted to use the characters to express different events in history.**

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><p><em><span>The Blitz<span>_

September 7, 1940 was when it first happened. I was at tea at the time. I had been merely sitting there, about to raise the porcelain teacup to my lips when pain erupted in my chest. Sudden, hot, burning pain. So acute was the pain that, while I must have fallen from my chair at some point, I have no recollection of this happening. None.

Yet, there I was on the floor, almost writhing in pain. New pains continued to bombard me, adding to those already existing. This pain was all I could think of for several moments. I couldn't remember where I was or who I was, only that I was in agony.

It did return to me, though, and that was when the panic set in.

For me to be in pain so intense, my nation must be under attack. Being at war, this was not an entirely revolutionary concept. I had many soldiers out in the field. I was accustomed to sudden pain—each soldier that lost his life, I felt it—but those pains were gone almost as quickly as they came. These… These were much different.

Another wave overtook me, and I couldn't breathe. My entire chest was ablaze. I clamped my eyes shut, desperately attempting to hold back tears.

After seemingly an eternity, the pain receded enough that I was able to take in a gasp of air, but just as soon as I had, the pain intensified again. This time, however, it was centered right at my heart, and even as the pain completely overtook me, I knew. If my heart was the source, that meant my capital itself was under attack.

That one thought went through my mind and then I couldn't think again for a while. The only thing I could do was curl up, trying to protect myself. A foolish, pointless action of course—the forces that attacked, after all, attacked my country, not myself physically, and therefore there was nothing I could do about it—but I indulged in the instinct all the same.

Finally, the pain subsided a little, just enough that I discovered I was bleeding somewhere. Reaching a hand up, I realized it was originating from beneath my vest. Forcing my other hand to cooperate with me, I moved the left side of my vest ever so slightly, and began to unbutton my dress shirt.

It was a little of a struggle because occasionally another wave would hit me, but after a few failed attempts, I finally managed to unbutton the shirt enough to pull it back and evaluate the wound. Almost as soon as I looked down at it, though, I turned away from it once more. It was a bad injury indeed.

Yet, in that very moment, I forgot about my own pain. This was replaced with fear for my people's well-being. How badly had my capital been attacked? The thought echoed in my mind until, at last, I knew. Pain or no, I had to find out. I simply had to know or that in and of itself would kill me. Just as this came to me, so did another wave that left me trembling and gasping for air once again.

When my strength had returned to me enough that I was in control of myself once more, I looked around my home, trying to locate something. My eyes finally fell upon for what I was looking. My small radio was sitting on the table only a few feet from where I was sprawled at the time, yet it seemed like it could have been much further.

For the briefest instant, I considered simply continuing to lie there, but we British are nothing if not persistent. I _had _to know about my people. They were like my children, and I could not simply abandon them. I _had_ to know.

So I tried to mentally prepare myself for what was to follow, and then I attempted to sit up. A vain struggle. I couldn't lift much more than a centimeters and quickly fell back, exhausted. After giving myself a few minutes to recover and regroup, I began a new objective. This time I was met with success as I found myself no longer staring at the ceiling but at the worn wooden floor of my house. I had succeeded in flipping over, a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. My reward? A fresh jolt of pain as my wounded chest hit the floor, taking my breath away momentarily.

I allowed myself another short reprieve, only until my breathing was regulated again, then I lifted my arm out in front of me and began to crawl.

I must have looked pathetic, and I must have gotten blood all over my floor, but I continued to crawl. Occasionally, more pain would hit and I would stop, completely breathless, but as soon as I recovered enough, I began again.

The entire journey was slow and painful. Minutes, hours, even days could have passed for all I knew, but I became closer and closer to my aim until at last, I reached the table where the radio sat.

I merely lie there a minute or two, feeling more exhausted than I ever remember having felt in my many years of life. Once again, I pondered the notion of simply lying there. I felt so tired, so… ancient. I felt, in those moments of indecision, every bit of my long existence. Yet, as my eyes began to close, a voice in the back of my mind whispered something that I could not ignore. It snapped me back to myself more quickly than anything else could hope to do, reminded me of my motivation.

_Your people, Arthur. Your people._

This one thought reinvigorated me, strengthened my resolve. Even as another wave hit me, I propped myself up on my left elbow and began to reach with my right arm. It was not long before I fell back again, but blast if my fingers had not grazed that very dial to turn on the thing that would tell me of my people's condition!

I rested an even shorter time before beginning once more. I propped myself up, then lifted my arm again. I reached and reached and reached until my fingertips found the dial, but still I could not turn it. Sighing in frustration, I looked down at the floor a moment before I began to raise myself from my elbow to supporting myself on that hand. It took forever it seemed, but finally, my arm was completely outstretched. With ragged breath and shaking arms, I finally turned the dial and as soon as the sound reached my ears, I collapsed onto the floor again, this time falling on my back.

I remained on that floor for several weeks, that much I know. I simply didn't have the strength to get up. The bombings continued the entire time. Occasionally, the pain would get so bad, I thought for certain that my country was nothing more than smoke, fire, and rubble, but the radio station continued to broadcast, and I continued to listen.

I listened and listened and listened for, truly, that was all I could do. Regardless of how much I wished to be amongst my people helping them and encouraging them, I could not. I had not even the strength to stand.

Therefore, the radio was my only link to my people. It seemed as though—in their concern with London—Churchill and everyone else had forgotten me, because no one came to look for me. I cannot fault them for this, but it did not make the situation any easier. I knew only what my radio broadcasted.

My country was in unrest, the radio told me. The poor people were angry because the government refused to build bomb shelters for them. They were protesting in the cratered streets whenever an opportunity afforded itself, and taking shelter in the Tubes when the bombs fell. It seemed as though everything was at the very brink of anarchy. It was in those days that I was at my weakest. If the bombing had not destroyed my country physically, it was doing a bloody good job in every other aspect. Blasted Nazis!

Then one day, Buckingham Palace itself was bombed. That one hurt rather badly, and I was worried for quite some time that the King, Queen, and two little princesses might be hurt in some way. My faithful companion, however,informed me from his place on the table that they were unharmed.

It was not immediate but in the days following that bombing of Buckingham Palace, even though the bombing of London continued, my strength was returning. It must have been late September but I finally had enough strength to sit up and—it was a struggle but—a few minutes later, I shakily stood, supporting myself on the table that held my radio. The return of some of my strength was unexpected and puzzling. Curious of what had brought about this rather miraculous turn of events, I staggered across the room, sometimes falling but always getting back up, until finally I reached the double doors that led out onto my balcony. Opening the doors, I stepped outside and gasped.

One might think this was brought about by the destruction of the bombs, the rubble and fire, the injured people roaming the streets, but that was not it at all.

From my balcony, I could see for miles. As far as I could see, were thousands of flags flying from staffs, and not a single one of them was white. It was _my _flag that flew. My people were flying _my_ flag. They did not do this because someone told them to but as a symbol of unity and as a symbol of defiance to the Nazis.

Upon making this revelation, I fell to my knees and wept, not out of sorrow or fear, but with joy and with pride. Surely no greater people were there than those of England.

I knew then that the Nazis could do their worst and my people would not break. They would not falter. They would continue to fight on to the last.

And because they would, so would I.

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><p><strong>The time period is during WWII. The London Blitz was where the Axis Powers (mainly Germany) bombed London from September 7, 1940-May 10, 1941.<strong>

**If anyone reading would like to know all of the historic references behind this (yes, there's more than just the London bombing that is a reference here) just message me and I would be more than willing to tell you. I'm a real history geek and the only reason that I don't post it is because I'm not sure that everyone else is quite as interested as I am. But if you are and would like to know the history references in here, just tell me via message or review and I will tell you. :)**

**~Kanae~**


	2. The Sleeping Giant

**This one is pretty short. I would like to point out in these different stories will be reflected the general sentiments of the nation or of the event. They do not always coincide with my own views. I simply thought that I should point this out before I continue forward with this story. **

**This particular chapter/story will go along with the following chapter in an effort to portray two different sides equally.**

**Thanks for the story alerts. They really did motivate me to type this up. Hope I don't disappoint. :)**

**~Kanae~**

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><p><em><span>The Sleeping Giant<span>_

A trick! A terrible, terrible trick that ended in many Americans—my people for goodness sakes!—being killed. Yes, while their ambassador sat waiting to see the Vice President, _they_ attacked. They attacked with their planes and bombers and torpedoes. They tried to cripple me, to break me. They tried to eliminate a threat that didn't even exist!

I wasn't in this war. I was neutral. Completely neutral like that one dude, what's his name… Switzerland! Yeah, I was neutral like Switzerland, but now… Now I have absolutely _no_ intention of staying out of it. Isolationism be forgotten. _They _dragged me into this. _They _started it. I plan to _finish it_.

I just can't seem to get over it, though, how it happened. I mean, I knew we weren't friends or anything, but I didn't realize we were enemies. What did I do to merit what _they_ did? Nothing. I. didn't. do. _**anything**_. And what did _they _do? They attacked me. They didn't even bother to declare war first. They just attacked. 2, 043 people died, another 1,178 were wounded. 103 of those dead or wounded were civilians, not military. That means fathers and mothers on the way to church with their children. Families going out for a Sunday drive along the coast, killed by _them_. Do they know how much that hurt me? Does _he _know?

Oh, he seems harmless, I know. He's always so quiet and reserved, so polite, but he's finally shown his true colors. So much for that code of the warrior. He looks more like a coward than a warrior from where I stand. No warrior would just attack a neutral people without issuing a declaration of war first. Only a coward could even think of doing that.

Well, I hope they're pleased with themselves because the sleeping giant has awoken. America is neutral no longer. We have officially joined Britain and the other Allies. This means we must heroically save Europe first, of course, but don't think for a moment that _they're_ forgotten. No matter how many days, months, or even years pass, I will not forget what happened. Those 2,403 deaths will be avenged. _Every_. _last_. _one_.

Do you hear me, Japan? Pearl Harbor will be avenged.

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><p><strong>Pearl Harbor took place on December 7, 1941. The Japanese attacked the Pacific base. The death toll and injury stats have been checked and rechecked using multiple different sources and the numbers are correct. The bombing of Pearl Harbor is what finally compelled the US to join in WWII rather than remaining isolated.<strong>

**As President Franklin D. Roosevelt put it, it is "a date which will live in infamy."**

**I'd love to hear what you guys think about it. I tried to stay true to America as a character, but also to the feelings that were going on at the time.**

**~Kanae~**


	3. Death and His Assistant

**Again, this one is a little short, but here is the perspective I promised.**

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><p><em><span>Death and His Assistant<span>_

It was death that rained from the skies on those two days.

Two cities, so many lives. Not simply lost, but in most cases completely obliterated. All that was left in some places are eerie shadows. Shadows left by people who never stood a chance. They saw Death coming, but they could not save themselves. No one could save them.

In other places, all that was left was hardly anything at all. An arm, a leg, sometimes even a detached head, but all so badly burned they were almost impossible to recognize.

Still, perhaps the worst to see were those places where there were _things_. Things because what were once human bodies could be called so no longer. They were burned, hideously burned. Some must have died instantly. Others were not so fortunate. They burned slowly, each second, each breath, begging for Death to come and release them from their pain. But it would toy with them, have them suffer until at last it grew bored and freed them.

Then were the survivors. These people were survivors only in name. So many walked as though dead. Walked as if ghosts. Their eyes were unseeing, their minds unthinking. They simply walked. Some cried, though, did they know for what they cried?

As for myself, I was broken, burned, and bleeding. To an extent, I also wished for death, if only to end the torture. I burned, just as those cities, those people burned, but Death could not take me from the pain, for I am a nation. Only were my nation to perish could I, yet I did not wish for that. My people were hurt, many of them dead, but many more were still alive. The damage could never be undone or the lives lost returned, however, we could rebuild. We could recover, in time.

Yet, as I stared out at all of the destruction, all of the loss, that I could see from my room in a hospital, I could not keep from crying.

One thought echoed in my mind, though.

How could one who professes himself a hero bring such destruction? How could he be the assistant of Death?

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><p><strong>The Atomic Bombs were dropped on Japan August 6, 1945 and August 9, 1945. The cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were virtually destroyed. The "Enola Gay" B-27 bomber dropped the first bomb. According to a newspost:<strong>

**The crew of the Enola Gay watched in awe as their payload detonated over the city of Hiroshima. "As the bomb exploded, we saw the entire city disappear," said Commander Robert Lewis. "I wrote in my log, 'My God, what have we done?'" **

**Below, thousands of people were instantly carbonised in a blast that was thousands of times hotter than the sun's surface; further from the epicentre, birds ignited in mid-flight, eyeballs popped and internal organs were sucked from bodies of victims.**

**A sobering though indeed, I think.**

**Now, I know that these first ones have been part of the "worst" category, but the next few will be "best" I promise. :)**

**~Kanae~**


	4. Differences

**Thanks for the great feedback and the alerts and faves. It really does mean a lot and encourages me more than you can know. My computer recently deleted everything off the entire thing and for some inexplicable reason, I've had a hard time writing after seeing all of my other typed stories and chapters disappear so... Yeah.**

**Anyway, you guys are great and thanks so much for all of it.**

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><p><em><span>Differences<span>_

I couldn't believe it. They just kept coming in waves. They came from little corners of everywhere. So many different people, different languages, different religions, different beliefs, different everything. So many, many differences. America was becoming a land of differences.

Some might ask how so many differences could ever exist in one place. Well, it wasn't easy. I promise you that. There were a lot of problems and prejudices for a long time. I mean, _a lot_ of that stuff, but for the most part after a while it was okay.

All the cultures seemed to add something to my country. People were learning things that they wouldn't have learned any other way. They were branching out and making friends with people they probably wouldn't have otherwise. It was as if America had become a great big melting pot of people and cultures. It didn't matter where one came from, only that they had come to my country.

So many who came from other countries were having to fight just to live when all that wanted was a chance. Some of them even struggled for years, just trying to earn money to come here. Quite a few of these people came here alone and picked up a job—sometimes multiple jobs—to send money to their families so that eventually they could come, too.

There's something special in being a free nation, a nation of opportunity. It's a sort of warmth in your heart and a sense of pride knowing that you are a country to which people dream of coming. They call America "The Golden Land of Opportunity", and they tell their children stories about it, stories so full of hope that it makes one's heart hurt to hear them. This is how they see America.

It's like what that hot green chick has inscribed inside the base of her statue:

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, the tempest-tossed to me.

I lift my lamp beside the golden door."

So many of them dreamed of coming here, and when they finally did, they realized they were different from everyone else. This meant that they had a lot of barriers and obstacles to overcome. Eventually, though, those differences were no longer a difficulty. The community grew together because of those differences, and then followed cities and counties and then states, until finally the nation grew closer together.

Many might think that having so many different people is a weakness, but really… It's our differences, so many differences, that bring us together and make us strong.

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><p><strong>So this is one of the "best". It's also the first one that isn't a specific event but rather a time period.<strong>

**Hope you all like it. It's a little different.**

**~Kanae~**


	5. Torn

**Honestly, this, I believe is the shortest one yet, but I think this is how it should look. It is slightly different format from the others, but again, I think that this was the best way to tell this particular story. Also, there are a few old ways of spelling words mixed throughout this one rather than the "Americanized" spelling, so don't come after me with pitchforks, please. :)**

**Also, I do apologize that it has taken me so long to update again. I was having trouble figuring out what my next chapter on this one would be and when I decided on this, I needed to make sure everything was as straight information wise as I can possibly get it.**

**Well... Without any further wait, here's this chapter.**

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><p>Torn<p>

A pair of timeless yet ancient eyes watch the happenings of Paris. French people of all ages line up, fighting for the best view they can possibly obtain. Pushing and shoving are employed in an effort to just get a little closer.

What do they all fight so desperately to see, one might ask.

They fight to watch noble blood—the blood of men, women, and children—be spilt in one of the most gruesome displays that he can remember having ever witnessed in the history of this nation. Some of the sacrificial lambs brought to slaughter are so old they cannot even walk without assistance; some of those brought forward are so young they cannot yet stand at all.

Regardless, some _kind_ citoyen is always standing nearby, more than willing to help them up the steps to quench, if only briefly, the common people's lust for blood.

He simply feels so torn watching it all happen.

To side with this massacre disguised as a commoner's revolution, or to side with the spoilt children playing dress up who declare themselves nobility? They are all his children. How can he side with one over the other?

Yes, the nobles deserve to be removed from their thrones with which they looked down upon the common people over whom they have… they _had_ authority. They had oppressed the people and never batted an eyelash as they danced at their elegant, fabulous parties. The people had every reason to fell them from their lofty heights and to teach them humility…

But do they deserve to die? Is it justice… or is it inhumanity?

And, of course, Marie. Beautiful, charming Marie. Did she deserve to die? No, she was not a good queen, for she knew not how to be queen in truth, but did that wonderful, bright, and captivating young woman deserve to meet such a death as she had? Did she?

To be completely truthful with himself, he does not know.

Thus, without any interference, his timeless yet so very ancient blue eyes —growing more ancient for each _twack_ of the blade and the following,sickening _thwump_—watch the happenings of Paris with tears streaming freely down his face. Tears for all of his people. People gone mad.

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><p><strong>And there you have the French Revolution. It lasted from 1789-1799. It is indeed considered a dark period in France's history. A time of upheaval in every sense and it was almost complete anarchy.<strong>

**Anyway, I told you it was the shortest one yet. I do think that this is how it needed to be, though. I promise I'm not simply being lazy here. I'm not one of those people who just kind of scribbles stuff in less than a minute and then throws it to their readers. I really honestly took some time on this one and wanted to make sure I got the feel I wanted for it, just like I have with the prior installments. **

**Hope to have another one up soon. I think I'm going to try for another happy one. I promise I'm not some weird angsty person obsessed with death. In fact, when my friends read these, they were actually surprised that I had written them because I usually don't write such heavy stuff as this. I prefer serious with comedy mixed in, but this has been something entirely different so far. It's just so hard to find happy defining moments... A lot of history is defined by tragedy, but I'm going to try my best to find one for this coming chapter. If anyone has any ideas for a segment be it best or worst category, I would be more than happy to look into it. I am going to say that I'd like to avoid the Revolutionary War, though, because the manga/anime has done its own focus on that. :)**

**Well, thanks for reading and I hope you will give me feedback and requests. **

**~Kanae~**


	6. INTERLUDE

**Okay, I am currently working on more chapters for this. I am doing my research on different topics even as I type this. This chapter however, is not a "true" part of my history series here. It does not have to do with an event in history, not really anyway.**

**In fact, I accidently deleted this one shot, and Fanfiction would not let me reload it, therefore, I have inserted it here as a (hopefully) humorous Interlude. Depending on how this goes, I may or may not continue inserting interludes every once in a while (probably every ten or so chapters even though this is the seventh). It just depends. Tell me what you guys think. If you don't like it, promise this will be the only one. ^_^**

**A disclaimer for this will follow at the end.**

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><p><em>It's That Day<em>

I woke up early in the morning, and I was already excited. Today is the most special day in the existence of the entire history of _earth_. Why you might ask. Well, I'll tell you. Today is the day we celebrate a truly great event.

Today is my birthday! The Fourth of July, the most epic-est day in the history of all time!

In no time, I am up and eating breakfast, and as soon as I'm done there, I rush to shower and then get dressed. After I get dressed, I run to the phone, grabbing a chair on the way, and I sit, staring at the phone. Everybody will call me to wish me a happy birthday, of course, and I want to be ready. I mean, you can't ignore a hero's birthday.

But … Then... No one called… No one. My phone doesn't ring even _once_, and doubt begins to creep into my mind. No one can forget a hero's birthday… Right? They must be in meetings. That's it.

As another two hours pass, I get really depressed, and lay my head on the telephone table. No meeting lasts for six hours… Had they really forgotten? That _would_ be pretty difficult to do since I had… reminded them on their calendars, texted them the countdown, talked to several of them about exploding a 'I can't believe it's not illegal' firework (Made in Mexico), and—of course, the fail safe—England had gone on his typical drinking spree right before today. For some reason the Fourth of July never has gone over quite well with him.

I didn't think I was asking for much you know, when I first made my birthday wish last night. I just wanted a few phone calls from my friends. Something that would make me feel all good because they remembered and everything... I guess it was too much to ask for…

At some point, I must have fallen asleep because I wake up only after almost falling out of my chair. Yawning, I sit up and look at the clock on my wall. It's nearly three in the afternoon now.

They _had_ forgotten somehow…

I stand, stretch once and begin walking toward the kitchen. I guess I would have to give myself a party. Time to bust out the Coca-Cola, fries, and cheeseburgers!

Opening the door into my kitchen, I realize the lights are off, which is weird because I'm positive I had those still on when I left the table after breakfast… Oh well, England's always saying I'm absent-minded. I probably just forgot that I turned them off.

I debate whether or not to turn the light on—darkness is so much more suited to being depressed, afterall.

Eventually, though, my totally non-fear of the dark prompts me to turn on the light, and as soon as I do, I hear, "_SURPRISE!_"

My jaw DROPS. All of my friends are standing in my kitchen. China, Russia, Japan, Germany, Italy, that one dude that looks kinda like me (I can never remember his name for anything), and even England. Yes, Mr. I-Believe-in-Fairies himself, with his thick eyebrows and eternal bedhead is here, too.

Suddenly, looking at England, I know exactly what I want to do for my birthday, right here with everyone to watch, and so I begin the operation.

I, America, go up to England and passionately with tons of gusto…

…deck him.

Everything is silent until—

"WHAT WAS THAT BLOODY FOR!" he exclaims looking up at me from the floor as he holds his now—wait for it—_bloody_ nose.

"Well, like any other true red, white, and blue American, out of tradition I had to deck the first British person I saw. Iggy, that'd be you."

He, of course, chased me around for a while shouting things that I probably can't repeat, but, seriously dudes, best. birthday. _**ever**_. I may even do it again next year... As long as I manage to see next year... Who knew if you hit someone they would get this mad?

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><p><strong>Okay, disclaimer. The idea for this story was gotten from a really funny comic on deviantArt called Hetalia Celebrate Responsibly by khakipants12. I did obtain the artist's permission to write this story. Everyone who reads this should definitely go look up the comic.<strong>

**~Kanae~**


	7. Forever and Sometimes

**Okay, I might have accidently lied a little about a happy chapter... TT_TT  
>I was talking with my friend and this topic came up and I got so upset about it I was crying and writing and obviously it got edited and posted. I am not saying the chapter will make you cry. I was just thinking about the topic and I got really upset about it. So anyway... Yeah.<strong>

**So this is another "two-part" and the following chapter is the second part of it.**

**Also! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you to those of you who have been submitting ideas to me! I can't believe how many of my readers actually are requesting events in history! It makes me really happy that you guys are actually liking the way I type the events up well enough to trust that I won't butcher one you want to read. ^_^ **

**Hope you enjoy and after these two I am going to do my best to get a happy moment, but history has very few of them... Why can't history be happier?**

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><p>Forever and Sometimes<p>

I hate him.

I will hate him forever.

Forever until the day I die.

This barrier may not last forever—after all, every man-made construct decays or is destroyed eventually—but my hate for that _thing_ will always remain. Forever.

The war is over. I surrendered, yet he… that… that… _monster_ tortures me still. Worse than his bitter cold ever could.

This barrier, this torture device, this _wall_ that he constructed separates me from mein bruder. They all say that it was the East German government who did it, but I know that he did it to spite me. Somehow he was behind its construction. I _know_ it. The wall's purpose is to separate me from the one whom practically raised me. To make me crazy worrying for him. Worrying for the same person who would panic were I out of sight for more than a few minutes when I was younger.

What is mein bruder doing now? I hope he does not worry for me. I am not the one who needs worrying…. He does. It does not matter how 'awesome' he thinks he is; what he has been enclosed with on the other side of that wall is a worse creature than a rabid wolf.

Sometimes…. Sometimes I go to the wall and sit there, listening.

Sometimes for minutes, but more often for hours.

Sometimes… I hear screaming, and I am certain that I recognize that voice…

And sometimes I convince myself that I am only hearing things.

Regardless, I know the abomination that currently… _owns_ mein bruder is not, cannot be, kind to him. It is not within the beast's nature to be kind. He does not even know the meaning of the word.

Yet… This in itself is irony. For all I have done, for all I now regret, for all that some part of me—the sane part, the humane part—regretted even as it was happening, can _I _claim to understand kindness? Should not I be the one punished? Should it not be myself on the other side of that wall and mein bruder free? Was what they already had done to him not enough?

But I cannot change what has happened or what is happening now, so I merely go sometimes, more and more often if I am honest with myself, to stand by the wall, and once there… I pray.

I pray for his safety.

Pray that people will realize how wrong this forced separation is.

Pray for this wall to be demolished.

Pray for his safe return.

Pray that he can recover from what he has surely suffered.

At this point in time, prayer is really all I can do to help mein bruder… to help Gilbert. As much as this thought hurts, time and prayer is all that can help him until the day that we meet again.

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><p><strong>For the other side of the wall, go to the next chapter.<strong>

**Thanks for reading and I would love to get feedback as always.**

**~Kanae~**


	8. Sometimes and Forever

**Here's the other side of the story.**

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><p>Sometimes and Forever<p>

Sometimes I hate them.

Sometimes I wonder if I will always hate them.

Sometimes I think I will hate them until the day I die.

Thinking about this, I cannot restrain a bitter laugh. After all, death may not be so far away. Not at the cruel hands of my owner… My ruthless, merciless master.

When the war ended, I was glad to be honest. So many people were dying, people that were never even soldiers. Whole towns and villages were wiped out, destroyed, _gone._ So many people were lying buried in mass graves, so many people were nothing left but ashes and memories and nightmares to keep me up at night. So many faces. And it wasn't right that it happened… But I was a part of it, and I'm sure that anyone who saw the same horrors I did knows how unawesome being a part of that would be.

So when the war ended, yeah, I was happy…

Then they punished me.

They decided that my name no longer needed to disgrace a map. So they erased my name straight off the map, tore my name straight out of my heart. No one else knows what it's like to get your name annihilated from existence, only me. I'm the only one.

I wasn't the only one in the war. I wasn't even the _leader _of it, yet it was only my name erased. When they did that to me—ironically all but my current owner had agreed with the rather drastic action—it felt like a railroad spike had been used to carve my heart out of my chest. I wouldn't let them see the pain, though, so I just smiled. I smiled with every ounce of strength I had left and told them that I was too awesome to have my name on the map. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing my pain.

I thought that would be the end of it, too, but they weren't through yet. No, they wanted to break me, to crush me, so they gave me to _it_, the smiling _monster_.

As if that had not been bad enough, the creature, my new owner decided to take some of my torture upon himself, and he put up a wall separating me from mein bruder. They said it was my government that decided it, that is was for my protection, but I know who was behind it. One way or another, I _know _he was. It was only then that the '_Allies_' wanted to pity me. Send supplies to me. Try to fight for me politically. Ha. _Funny_.

I cannot _count_ how many times I have gone to the wall, trying to escape. It seems I have done so forever.

Forever is how long I run to the wall, dogs and guards and _him_ chasing me.

Forever is the time it takes me to reach the top of the wall, to almost be free.

Forever is the length of the beating _it_ gives me when I have been caught after another failed attempt to escape.

And it seems like forever is how long the injuries stay.

Yet, even in those moments, I sometimes worry if mein bruder is all right, and hope that he isn't worrying about the awesome me so much. I wonder if I'll ever see him again. The closest I can get to him now is being beside this wall, and so I go sit by the wall and pray… pray that one day… one day I'll be free from this monster that I hate and free to see mein bruder again. Because really… prayer is all I have left anymore.

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><p><strong>Well, there you have it Germany (West) and Prussia (East) and the Berlin Wall. It really was a sad thing that the wall went up. It separated families and friends for so long, too long. That would be what got me so upset when I was writing this. It made me wonder what it would be like if I was separated from all my friends and family. I would hate that. :(<strong>

**Anyway, thanks again for reading and, again, I will try my absolute BEST this time to find a good/happy moment in history. **

**~Kanae~**


	9. Wake Me Up When September Ends

Wake Me Up When September Ends

_Summer has come and past_. Now fall is in its place.

I used to love the fall. Especially September. September meant Labor Day, cook outs, sports, piles of leaves, and just fun stuff in general. It was all so… innocent.

But I found out not so long ago that _the innocent can never last_.

One year changed it all, for me and all of my people whether they were directly affected or not, because everyone was affected one way or another. Shocked, horrified, worried, grieved, they were affected somehow.

How many lives were lost? How many families and friends suffered? I felt every bit of the pain. I still see every single one of those faces. Every person in the towers. Every person on the flights. Every bystander on the streets or in nearby buildings. Every police officer, firefighter, or emergency worker.

That day, so many brave people lost their lives or laid down their lives. Some people who could easily have escaped instead, tried to help others; many of those who attempted to help died in the effort, and I personally consider them heroes. In most cases, they knew what would happen even before they tried. They were willing to give anything, everything, to have the possibility of getting someone else out alive.

They say that it's the difficult times that prove a people, prove a nation. Well, I think my people proved themselves that day. That day and several weeks and months following, they pulled together. All differences and everything else aside, they pulled together to help those who were hurt and to support those who had lost so much. As weak as I felt from the attacks themselves, I could feel my strength returning not long after. I could feel that my people hadn't deserted me and fallen into chaos or anarchy, and that was more than I could have asked for.

Yet, here's September, and _here comes the pain again_, even now after several years passing. I can still feel the shock of the planes hitting. Can still feel the sudden pain, the loss of life. Some years are worse than others, but they're all enough to constantly remind me. Sometimes, I just have to let the memories rest.

_As my memory rest but never forgets what I lost_, what we lost, I can't keep from wondering why it even happened to begin with. Why? There was no reason really. Not one I can find anyway. None. It was even more of a shock than Pearl Harbor. A whole lot more.

I'm tired of wondering, though, and I'm tired of remembering so I think for now, I'll sleep.

Just remember to _wake me up when September ends_.

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><p><strong>This chapter is dedicated to all of the heroes who risked and gave up their lives on September 11, 2001. I have been trying to get a chapter together for this for a while and was just all of a sudden struck by this. I do not normally write stories weaving in songs, but this hit me like a load of bricks and I knew I had to write it. I hope that it read well, but as I said, I am uncertain about this style as I have not often used it.<strong>

**As I said though, this chapter is a tribute to all of the heroes that day ten years ago. I would have posted it tomorrow on the anniversary, but I don't know if I will have internet or not and I do not want this to be late. **

**Thank you very much for reading, and I hope you liked it. **

**~Kanae~**


	10. Waiting

**This particular chapter is posted for German Unification Day, so I'm sure you can guess what the focus is. With that said, I will continue with the story. ^_^**

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><p><span>Waiting<span>

I got up very early this morning. This is even earlier than my normal routine of waking up at dawn, which leaves me to wonder if I ever really went to sleep at all last night. In all honesty, I do not recall, such had been my agitated state.

Today, it would finally happen. That absolute abomination of a wall will come down after so many years. It will take time for it to come down entirely, but the demolition starts right here.

That wall and too many years have separated me from mein bruder, but finally today, it will come down and I will see him.

I cannot help but wonder about him. So many years isolated with that _monster_. Has he changed? How has it affected him? He would not be so different, would he? He would not possibly allow Russia to break him, right? Gilbert is too strong—or as he would say, too AWESOME—for that to happen. It could not happen… Could it?

Arriving at the wall long before most, I attempt to push the thoughts from my mind. Dressed in my civilian clothes so as to avoid drawing unwanted attention to myself, I wait, standing and staring, left only with my thoughts until at last others gather.

Most of them are native West Germans. They stand as I do, waiting, hoping to find loved ones they had long been separated from by the wall. Some of those gathered within the growing crowd, however, I do recognize, among them are America, England, Spain, and France.

When each of them see me, there is some sort of acknowledgment. America gives me a thumbs up and a grin. England presents me with a stiff nod. Both Spain and France standing together send bright, happy smiles my way, and I wonder if they are the only ones to have truly missed Gilbert besides myself.

My thoughts are quickly diverted from this, though, as it begins.

I can almost feel the procession of the blows to the wall, can almost feel the anxiousness of the people—on both sides—for the wall to fall at last.

Though quite some time passes as the people work, I stand unmoving, watching. I would enjoy nothing more than tearing the wall down myself with my bare hands, but I find that I am shaking ever so slightly. I cannot, at the moment, trust my strength. So I merely stand and watch until the point where there is enough of a segment out of the wall that people from the East German side are beginning to flood over to my side, many immediately searching for familiar faces.

From my sentry post, I, too, search with my eyes. As each wave of people surge over the wall, I scan. He should stand out in the crowd, but I do not see him anywhere. I see no tell-tale disheveled white hair or red eyes or skin so pale as to reflect sunlight into innocent passerbys' eyes. I do not see anyone even close to matching this description.

I continue to watch anxiously, impatiently. Is he purposely being slow? Is he _trying_ to keep me waiting? After so longer apart and he is probably being slow on purpose simply to make me wait for "His Royal Awesomeness" to arrive. So help me when I see him, I will…

Then a thought strikes me with such crushing force that I almost fall to my knees.

What if… What if, in tearing down the wall that separates us, I had lost mein bruder? No longer a country, no longer representing a part of a country that is isolated… A personification without something to personify… What if….

Is he gone now? How cruel that would be, to be unable to see him again until the wall comes down, devote quite a lot of energy into making this happen, only to be forever unable to see him because it _is_ coming down at last. I, America, and several other countries would be responsible for Gilbert's death. How could I live with myself _knowing_ that I had been _directly_ involved in his death? In my older bruder's death.

With the realization of this terrible possibility sinking in entirely, I finally do fall to my knees, tears threatening to spill over. Once more by the wall, I shut my eyes and pray, though, this time a much different prayer from any prior I had before prayed here.

It is, in truth, simply one thought in several different wordings, as if saying it enough would more God to have pity on me. Without a word aloud, I pray.

'Bitte, Lord, I know my wrongs are great but I have already lost _so_ much, bitte, do not take mein bruder as well. Bitte, mein Vater im Himmel, bitte, do not take Gilbert. Bitte allow mein bruder to remain even though the wall is falling. Bitte, Vater, bitte, I just—'

"Mein Gott, Westen! Why are you on the ground?"

Instantly, my bowed head snaps upwards to look at the source of the exclamation, and I enter into eye contact with a familiar pair of crimson eyes, which widen substantially widen upon seeing my face. Somewhere within my please for God's mercy, tears, until now unbeknownst to me, had escaped.

"West, are you…. Are you alright?" he questions, rare concern and uncertainty shown clearly on his tired, worn face.

Wordlessly, I pull Gilbert into a strong hug. I cannot help but notice how thin he seems. He seems so much thinner than he was even at the end of the war.

Whether through shock or confusion, he remains rigid, but after a moment, returns the nearly foreign gesture. Hugs are not something that is often shared between the two of us. At the moment, however, I do not care how awkward it may be; I missed my bruder.

"Ja, bruder. I missed you, too," he replies to my unspoken statement choked back by tears and relief. Nothing more is said for a time, but of course, Gilbert being Gilbert, would have to say something. "Really, West. If you keep hugging me like this, people are going to get the _completely_ wrong idea."

In response to this statement, I promptly shove him backwards, stand, and walk away, his yells about unawesomely landing on his ass heard by anyone in the vicinity.

All the same, I cannot help but smile and thank God that I still have such an annoying older bruder.

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><p><strong>When the Allies won the war, they decided to divide Germany and get rid of Prussia. My theory is that Prussia became East Germany (he does call Germany West and Prussia's territory DID overlap East Germany if I remember correctly). Therefore it is possible that Prussia continues to exist as East Germany and there are just enough difference between (they people still refer to each other in some cases as East and West Germans) that Gilbert might be able to continue existing as a separate personification. That probably isn't the clearest explanation, but I don't know how to explain it any better. Sorry. My words fail me at the moment. Haha.<br>****  
>Well, thanks for reading and I would love to hear your feedback. ^_^<strong>

**~Kanae~**


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